• The feeling could be best described as a butter knife shoved into my chest, twisting ever so slowly. Pain, indescribable pain; I'd never felt so completely close to a physical, mental, and emotional shutdown.

    It was those words that started it all.

    "We need to talk."

    That alone was enough to make my heart sink into my shoes, scared of the tone of voice. I studdered, tripping over my words while barely saving myself from my weakening knees.

    He was silent for a moment, and his eyebrows furrowed as though he was searching for words. "I can't talk about it now, wait till we get home."

    The car ride was silent and the air felt heavy. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words dissapated before they left my lips.

    I turned to look at him, his eyes were set, fixed on the road ahead. Was he mad at me for something? I was swimming in paranoid suspense.

    When the car finally stopped, the wave of fear washed over me with the force of a typhoon. I wanted to know, but I didn't.

    Once somewhat settled on the back porch, he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself.

    As if he were the one who needed preparing.

    "I think.. I think we need to take a break, Breanna."

    My head started to swim and my heart felt like it exploded. The words I feared the most, my nightmare was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

    Trying to speak, I gurgled through the tears starting to stream down my face. "Why? What did I do? These 1 and a half years mean nothing to you?" The volume I was using was barely audible.

    "Don't cry, please don't cry." He wiped one stream of tears from my face. "Its just a break. I need to think."

    "Ab.. about what? What do I need to do?" In my 17 years, this was my first breakup, and I had no idea what to do first, cry, scream, pass out, hit him, desperately hug him; I wanted to do them all at once. I loved him, pictured my future with him.

    "Nothing, Bre, you're perfect; I just don't know what I want, baby." He looked hurt, knowing that he was performing an emotional execution.

    People told me that he would turn around, that they'd all seen guys do this before. Others said, "Time heals all wounds." But I couldn't bring myself to trust those comforting words, just like my stomach couldn't trust food. I lost ten pounds, not eating, and I'm sure that I could have filled buckets with the tears I couldn't turn off.

    Would my story have a happy ending? He called me. On a day that I decided to treat myself to a haircut and highlights in which I was content for the first time.

    I missed it.

    He must have called me five times, and I was unaware of the urgency as I was pampering myself. I finally called him after 9pm.

    When the line connected, he didn't say hello. Just silence. "Hello?" I repeated twice, when I finally heard a broken, "I'm here. Why didn't you answer?"

    When I explained my absence, he sighed. I could hear a hint of emotion in the escape of air.

    "We need to talk."